


Pawmark

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Master/Pet, Mirror Universe, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Semi-Public Sex, Slavery, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best thing Carol’s father ever did for her was give her the convict Khan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ~

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Placing her mug on the coffee table, Carol settles back on the couch, lounging within the soft pillows. After ten straight days at the office, it’s good to have a moment to relax at home. As much as she often enjoys the challenge her father’s work presents, torpedo specs can be studied just as easily in her apartment, and so she sets the PADD in her lap, flicking idly through data. 

A few paragraphs later, Carol reaches for her mug, tossing her blonde hair out of her eyes. She briefly considers having her man come and tie it back while she works, but that sets her mind to other things. The poor dear; she’s been too absent to play with him lately. Most slaves of the Empire are used to time in cages, particularly one that came as a criminal, but Carol’s... he’s _special._

He was unfrozen just a few months ago by her father and gifted to her as a present: easily the best one she’s ever gotten, and better for him than a trial for his ancient crimes. At first, Carol wasn’t sure she wanted a fellow human being to kneel at her feet, but then she saw Khan Noonien Singh for herself, and any protests she might’ve had flittered right out the window.

She later learned of Khan’s status as a genetically engineered tyrant, a fugitive with a warrant of 300 years. She doesn’t feel guilty anymore. Besides, his strength, his looks, even his unusual intelligence have all improved her life. She’s still contemplating calling him when he wanders into the living room as though summoned by her thoughts, knowing better than to approach her directly. He’s wearing his apron; the only time she likes him to move about without being on all fours. 

With a dusting rod in hand, Khan ignores her and starts in the far corner of the room, turning his back to her to face one of her bookshelves. He starts to move the modern instrument across each old-fashioned volume individually, while Carol admires the elegant line of his spine and the luscious curves of his bare ass. Khan has the figure of an Adonis, and Carol feeds him well and supervises his training to ensure that he maintains his pleasing shape, his six-pack and his tight abs. If Carol’s going to have an underling, then she’s going to have the _very best_ one possible.

The world has no better to offer than Khan. 

His only flaw is the attitude it took months to drain out of him and the malicious ego she’s certain still broils beneath the surface. Khan acts subservient now; he does what he’s told, what he must do, under the threat of true punishment for his atrocities and his other cryogenically frozen crew meeting the same awakening. But he still has that calculating look beneath his eyes sometimes, and Carol knows that the day Khan sees an opportunity to rise above this is the day that it’ll happen.

For now, Carol sips her coffee and returns to her PADD. She’s a professional woman, and there won’t be any time to play until after her work. No matter how pretty her toys are. A small message in the bottom corner pops up on her screen, notifying her that one of her father’s technicians has found an issue in the magnetic casing. Carol makes her way to the appropriate screen and reopens the schematics. She’s well aware that Khan could likely solve the issue for her, but she also knows better than to give him access to any sensitive information. All the technology in her apartment is firmly locked down when she isn’t using it, and her couch is backed against the window for a reason; she won’t even chance a stray glance over her shoulder. 

While she runs through theoretical calculations, Khan makes his way around the room, the apron that shields his front (or at least, just below his nipples and just above his thighs) is almost always turned away from her. The strings at the back of it, wrapped around his waist and tied in a loose bow, trail down along his ass, blocking his crack from view. Carol has half a mind to have him tie it up better, but then, she doesn’t need more distractions. Back to work.

...And a few minutes later, she realizes that he’s been in the same position for entirely too long. Her desk is directly across from her, and Khan is bent over it, ass stuck out with his back arched down, his legs spread just enough for her to see the heavy sac of balls and long, thick cock hanging between his legs. It sports a ring, of course; his pleasure is her prerogative—he conceived of pleasuring her first and prompts it too often for it to be above suspicion. At first, she scrutinizes him, just to make sure he hasn’t broken into her console, but another look confirms that he’s simply dusting around the back of it. With the dangerous potential of the work and his violent tendencies, she can’t take any risks.

He should’ve finished that area several minutes ago, and Carol has no doubt that her impertinent pet is begging for attention. He’s too proud to ask directly when she’s bound him this way, or to nuzzle against her legs like one of the office yeomen might. He probably thinks he’s being subtle. He always underestimates her. 

She lets him struggle in that knowledge. His cleaning slows to an impossible rate, until she might as well punish him for being such a lousy maid. The more she stares at his ripe ass, both cheeks taut with the strain of bending over, dimpling when he shifts, the more she wants to rain her hand down on them, spank him over and over again like a drum. If only he’d scream for her when she did it. He has such a _sensual_ voice, but he doesn’t use it the way she’d like it. He uses it to try and seduce her, lower her guard to him, not to beg and whine like the pretty thing he is. When there’s absolutely nothing left on the desk that could possibly need dusting, Khan straightens back to his full, impressive height, broad shoulders rolling as though to stretch, really just showing off. He dares to glance over his shoulder, ever-changing eyes regarding her with the usual collected neutrality. 

She has the sudden urge to shove his handsome face between her legs, make those full, bow lips run all over her body. But she’s a Marcus, and she doesn’t give in to him. She holds herself tall and proud and drawls, “Have you missed me, pet?”

A small smirk twists its way onto Khan’s lips, and he has the nerve to purr, “Always.” At her address, he drops the cleaning rod on the desk and strolls towards her, hips moving in such a way that the bulge of his bouncing cock sheathed beneath the apron is undeniable. When he reaches her, he sinks to his knees like some wild, graceful cat, grinning just as cleverly. She’s just as inclined to pet him. He rests his cheek sideways on her knee, bare below the blue of her dress. “May I serve you in anything else?” And his eyes flicker once to her crotch; however high his own tolerance might be, he has no trouble making _her_ scream. He bravely places one hand on her thigh, long, warm fingers sliding slowly up her leg, but Carol slaps it away. Khan drops it back to his lap as though he never hand any intention of doing otherwise. Carol has half a mind to push his head away too, but it’s hard to banish such a beautiful sculpture. 

She did miss him. Or more specifically, ogling his face and slapping his ass and stuffing him full of toys, dressing him up and pulling his hair and even riding his cock. The first few times she took him to bed, he might as well have taken _her_ —she’s not sure who was truly in charge. But she’s built more defenses against his charm, and he’s recently adopted a more quiet approach to gaining her favour. Though, she’s sure he’d still be all too happy to lie back and slick his cock for her. 

She doesn’t have time for that now. She forces herself to say, “I have work.” He nods ascent like he understands, and his long lashes flutter down against his cheek. She can’t resist cupping his face and tracing his high cheekbone with her thumb. Her fingers toy along his jaw line, and she lifts him up to look at her, scrutinizing his interest.

She finds that, perhaps, she wouldn’t mind his warmth. He clearly wants _to be next to her_ and, she supposes, so long as she enjoys it too, it doesn’t really matter what his motives are. 

So she sighs and gives in, patting the couch cushion beside her. Khan takes it for the invitation it is and crawls to her other side, climbing up onto it and lying down, stretching out luxuriously. His head falls in her lap, cheek cushioned by her thighs. She’s not sure how long she’ll last with his talented mouth so close to her crotch, but there shouldn’t be too many files left to go through today. 

Carols shifts a moment to settle, then draws the PADD back up, trying to focus. Her other hand absently falls to her lap, where she strokes back though Khan’s silky hair, trying not to revel too much in the throaty purr his deep voice makes. She imagines he’ll fall asleep in her lap, or at least, pretend to, so he won’t have to do any more menial chores until she so decides she wants his body. Though she knows he enjoys that too much, she tells herself that it’s about her own pleasure, and it shouldn’t matter one way or the other how Khan feels. At the moment, he looks entirely too pleased with himself. She supposes, at least, she has an amusing pet.

She has a _gorgeous_ pet. One with the strength of a lion and the mind of a genius, and she enjoys musing on what exactly she’ll do with him next while she pours through the rest of her PADD.


	2. ~

“Computer, stop music,” Carol groans, after a rousing round of beach noise that got her absolutely nowhere. She’s gone through a dozen different albums, both of relaxing music and white noise, and it’s done her no good. She’s got her quarters pitch black, and she’s even tried a few vitamins; next, she might actually have to try a hypospray. After a long, grueling day at work, she’s just painfully _awake_ , and there seems to be nothing she can do about that.

She rolls over for the millionth time, clutching at her pillow, and kicks her blankets out of frustration. Maybe she should run laps around her quarters. But then, that might just get her adrenaline flowing. She grumbles to herself and hears sheets shifting, though she’s settled.

It reminds her of the man curled up at the foot of her bed, nestled on the floor in his nest, special ordered just for him, somewhere between a futon and a dog bed. There isn’t room enough in her apartment for anything else. Carol’s leg twitches, thighs brushing together, and she wonders if she really has time to waste on that; she has to be up early. But then, if there’s anyone that can tire her out, it’s Khan.

So she grunts, “Computer, lights, five percent,” even though there’s a good chance he can see in the dark. Maybe she just wants to see his pretty face, or at least, the outlines of it. She calls, “Khan,” and she hears him sitting up at being summoned. He usually doesn’t sleep until she does, and while she wants to praise him for that, for being a good boy in putting his mistress’ needs first, she knows there are likely ulterior motives. Still, she calls, “Come here.”

The mattress weighs down. She glances through the curtain of darkness to watch the silhouette of his form climb up to the bed, broad shoulders squared as he stalks towards her like a cat. He wears nothing, as she likes and he seems to do on purpose to tempt her, except for the dog collar he whispered in her ear once to buy for him. As he crawls closer, she reaches to loop a finger in it, dragging him into position. She settles him atop herself on all fours, and she kicks the blanket away, her silk nightdress doing little against the cold of her bedroom. She doesn’t turn the heat up; his body will do that for her. 

She runs her palm flat across his strong chest, tugging once on each of his nipples and schooling herself not to play; it’s easy to get caught up in admiration of his perfect body. But this is going to be fucking with a purpose, and she forces her hand to make its way up to his face, where she brushes his dark hair, fallen down into his eyes, back behind his ears. She whispers to him, “You’re going to fuck me good and quick to help me sleep, understand?” She cups his face to feel his nod, as though Khan ever misunderstands anything. 

Khan tilts his head to kiss her thumb, maybe to test the waters. At first, he used to kiss her, hard and powerful; he’d thrust his tongue into her mouth and drive her wild with it, but she’s since learned to deny him such power. He’ll control her, if she lets him. But she won’t. She fists her fingers in his hair and tugs it down, turning her face away and pressing him into her neck. He obeys instantly and opens his beautiful mouth, tongue and teeth scraping along the side of her throat. 

Carol scrunches her own nightgown up around her waist, the slinky fabric tumbling easily down her legs as soon as she lifts them. She presses her knees into Khan’s sides and feels down his stomach, brushing through the tuft of coarse hair that frames his heavy cock. He makes no reaction as she wraps her fingers around it, pleased, as always, at how fast he hardens in her hands, how warm it is and how soft his skin feels, how the little veins running just below the skin seem to pulse against her palm. Khan’s cock is just as magnificent as the rest of him, of course: it’s mammoth in size, bigger than any man she’s ever seen, and he knows exactly how to use it. It’d be a problem if he weren’t so very _hot_ , if he didn’t make her so very wet and loose right away, his handsome body hers to toy with and his talented mouth working hard on her neck. Carol strokes his massive dick in both her hands while he pleasures her, until the tingling sensation between her legs almost has her convulsing with the need to be _filled_. She thinks of making him talk too—he has the dirty voice of a porn star, easily the sexiest she’s ever heard. He could probably get her off with just his voice alone, but then, she doesn’t have the energy right now to field his games—to keep him in line. She doesn’t need him truly _seducing_ her, as he so often tries, and her body wants the work out of nothing but pure, rigorous physical fucking.

She tugs him down by his dick when she’s ready, and he lowers his hips accordingly. One of Carol’s hands instantly darts around him to grab and squeeze one cheek of his ass; she always loves feeling them flex. Khan keeps his hands dutifully to either side of her in the bed, supporting himself and nothing else. She does the work, arranging him how she likes. She holds his cock against her pussy and rubs his tip around her lips, swirling it up along the peak of her clit, gasping each time his skin touches hers. Just when she presses him against her opening, already slick from his ministrations and her own exploration, he sinks his teeth into her neck. Not hard enough to draw blood, but just enough to make her _moan_.

His cock hangs in the right place, and she slaps his ass and hisses in his ear, “ _Go_.”

Khan never needs to be told twice. The second her other hand’s out of the way, Khan slams into her with the force of a lion—she screams and bucks up, clawing at his shoulders, and Khan sets a merciless precedent. His huge cock forces her walls apart, and it stings and hurts, but feels so _good_ too, and he reaches impossibly far inside her, stimulating every part of her, brushing just right along her insides and jamming against her clit. Khan’s as perfect in sex as he is in everything else, and he seems to take a personal pride in making her dizzy with lust. He pulls his hips back a split second later, dragging half out of her, but her body clenches and resists, clawing at his girth and trying to hold him in. Khan stabs back down and snarls against her jaw; Carol groans and grabs his hair. 

He’s good, so _good_. He was made to fuck, she’s sure, was wasted on all those years of fighting and genocide; he should’ve just sat at some queen’s feet and licked her boots and her pussy. When one of his arms slides down her, she doesn’t stop it. One is more than enough for him to keep steady, and the other he loops around her waist, scooping her up like she weighs nothing. He flattens their bodies together, her breasts squishing into his taut chest and crushing the air out of her lungs. The nightgown between them might as well not be there, and she thinks if he had his way, he’d probably rip it off her. But he doesn’t have that option, not yet—she’s sure he must dream and plot of overturning this, of rising to the top as a tyrant, a king again, and claiming her for a prize, but until then, he keeps himself tightly in check. Instead, he alternatively nips and licks at her sensitive throat and fucks her _hard_. He’s a wild beast in these moments, one she’s just barely tamed. 

If she were a crueler mistress, she’d tie his cock again. She does, sometimes, just for show, but not often, and not normally. He’s unrestrained right now, though she knows his self-control is amazing, and if she tells him not to come at all, he won’t. She’s not quite that mean. Not when he’s behaving anyway. While he drives that glorious cock into her again and again, Carol nudges her chin against the side of his ear and gasps, “Don’t you dare come until I do.” She wants to growl it, cool and commanding, but she doesn’t have that ability when he’s in the middle of fucking her.

Khan kisses beneath her jaw and then around her chin, and he makes his way up her face, careful to avoid her lips. He nuzzles into the side of her face, hot breathe ghosting over her cheek, nose pressed into her and mouth tantalizingly close. He purrs in that pure-sex voice of his, “Your pleasure is all I want, Carol.” There’s so much _sincerity_ in his voice that it almost makes her sick. He’s too good at this. He’s _dangerous_ to have off a leash, out of a muzzle. He’ll likely conquer the world again someday.

He should call her _mistress_ or _master_ , but she likes the way he says her name. The way it sounds on his lips, on his tongue. She allows it and thinks she can hear the faint tremor of his snicker; he’d go on, if he could. He presses another long, lingering, messy kiss into her face and hisses, deep and so sensual it actually makes the walls of her pussy convulse, “I love your sweet body, Carol.” He kisses her hard enough to turn her head to the side, and he pauses his relentless pace to grind his hips into her, her thighs trembling around his body. He holds her so firmly against him that she almost feels trapped, almost forgets who belongs to who. She shivers as he moves his cock around inside her, slow circles that rub him against all the spots that make her want to scream. “You should ask for this every night. Let me warm your bed. I’ll make you feel as good as you deserve...” Even when his voice lowers, so quiet amidst the bed creaking and her own gasps and moans, it’s so strong that she almost feels helpless to disobey. He growls against her, “You know I belong in your bed...”

She snaps to life and tugs his head back by his hair, groaning while his hips continue to fuck her hard, “Don’t talk.” Through the dim light, she can just barely see his smirk, but he closes his mouth anyway. The damage is done. Her body’s on fire. She’s already fantasizing about other times, all the many times she could be writhing on his dick, and this is exactly why she didn’t give a frame to his mattress; couldn’t have him in her line of sight... 

If she listened, she’d never get any sleep, and she drags his head back to her neck; her favourite place to be kissed. Now more than ever, she knows it’s too dangerous to have him at her lips. She returns to clinging to his shoulders and taking brutal thrust after thrust, letting him pound her so hard into the mattress that it’s a wonder he doesn’t break it, or her, in two. She’s panting in his ear, breaking out in sweat, and his perfect body is all around her, holding her close in mock tenderness, and she knows, as perilous as it is, that he _loves_ to be here. She has to wonder how he ever made it through the test required to delegate him to this instead of prison, and then she almost laughs at her own blind spot; he probably seduced the tester. 

He makes her so hot she can hardly stand it. She only lasts so long because she’s used to it; she’s adapted to a higher standard of sex, to the utter flawlessness that is Khan Noonien Singh. She rides out the waves of constant pleasure, until her head is splitting apart and her screams are nearly deafening her, the pleasure numbing her body and tightening her stomach, her head a clouded mess. She digs her nails into his skin and throws her head back, exposing more of her throat for him to suck on. He drives his cock home, and Carol _shrieks_ at the top of her lungs, the orgasm ripping through her in a mindless furry. 

For a few blissful, rapturous moments, all Carol can do is writhe, whole body spasming as the pleasure rocks through her, shorting out her brain. Her toes are curled and her knuckles are tense, and Khan fucks her through it, slows just enough to milk her properly, to make sure it lasts. She clutches at her man, her precious pet, and Khan presses his face against her again, letting her drown in stimulus.

And then she’s coming down, panting and shivering, and he pulls his magnificent cock out of her with a wet pop before she’s ready, while she shudders and clenches in its absence. She can feel her own juices dripping out of her. Her arms fall away, and he’s left towering over her, hard as a rock and under complete control. 

He brushes a stray strand of blonde hair off of her sweat-slicked forehead, and he waits for her to recover. She feels so immensely satiated and spent that she could fall unconscious right now, but she keeps her eyes open and on him anyway, because he’s too good to look away from. 

He looks down at her with his maddeningly beautiful features, his smile fitting right in. Finally, he whispers, “Should I go back to my bed?” The little one on the floor, but he knows damn well she can’t do that. She glances down his body and has the vague urge to stuff him full of a thick vibrator until he comes. 

But instead she nods towards the washroom and tells him through her heavy breathing, “Go take care of yourself.” Because she doesn’t have the time for how aroused watching him will make her. Khan slips off the bed with ease and strolls towards the bathroom, while Carol squints through the darkness to watch his ass twitch with each step. She keeps all the blankets off her, because she’s boiling. Her nightgown’s stuck to her with sweat.

She lies where she is and waits for him to return. When he reappears a few moments later, she sighs, “Come here,” and opens her arm. He crawls right back to her like he never left, and she pushes him onto his side, facing away from her. 

Then she wraps her arms around his sweaty back and cuddles up to him like a teddy bear. He smells musky and delicious, and she has to resist starting anything anew. 

Fortunately, he’s left her as exhausted as she wanted. 

Carol closes her eyes and drifts off to the memory of amazing sex and the feel of her man, too content to care that Khan’s probably melting in his own self-satisfaction. She’s thoroughly satisfied, and that’s what matters. Maybe there is something to his every-night idea, after all.


	3. ~

She expects to wait the extra five minutes. On the tenth, she lets out an aggravated sigh and taps the button to lower the tinted partition between the back seat she occupies and the front of the hover-limousine. The driver looks around at her, eyebrows drawn up apologetically. She asks, doing her utmost to be polite, “Have you been able to contact my father yet?” She would do it herself, but he never answers her communications. 

He contacts her when and if he feels like it, asks—or rather, subtly demands—that they have dinner, then ties himself up with work anyway, because he thinks so very little of her time. 

Carol is no admiral, but her work is equally as important. But the worst feeling is the disappointment—loathe as she is to admit it, part of her was actually looking _forward_ to tonight; it’s been too long. 

The driver tells her, “His secretary said he’d probably be another thirty minutes. I’m sorry.” 

Carol shakes her head; she should’ve known this would happen. She sighs, “It’s alright,” and then, because she can’t be the only one unaccustomed to tapping her toes in wasted time, decides, “You can wait in the lobby, if you like. Grab a coffee or something.”

“You sure?” He’s frowning, but his tone says he wants to go. “Do you want to come?” Carol shakes her head again and waves her hand aside.

“It’s fine.”

And more importantly, she’s been foolish enough to let Khan keep his hand on her thigh for the majority of the ride here, and it suggests more inviting times than coffee. The limo driver smiles his thanks, and Carol rolls the partition back up, sealing off the sound of him exiting the door. She can watch him go through the tinted windows, but no one else can see in. 

Which is well enough, given her company. She looks aside at Khan, who has the audacity to stare forward, as though his long fingers aren’t carefully brushing their way along the curve of her inner thigh. She wore a short dress, but they were supposed to be seated all night, a table blocking the view. In cut, it’s not that different than her Starfleet uniform. The pearly blue is also reminiscent, but the glistening turquoise trim hints at its more expensive nature, complimenting her silver necklace, earrings, and the clasps of her knee-high boots. She’s dressed Khan to match: all black, with a tight turtleneck that covers the bulge of his collar. He’d be a handsome trophy on any woman’s arm. 

She has a sneaking suspicion her father asked for him to be brought along simply to view his progress: to see the way Carol’s broken him down. Her father always did have too much of a fascination with servitude, this pet-project-slave of his in particular, though if he really knew half the things Khan seduces Carol into using him for, her father probably wouldn’t be so keen. Khan’s back isn’t at all crisscrossed in the whip-marks her father would both like and naturally assume, though Khan’s body has certainly been stringently used for... other things. 

Khan doesn’t look at her until she reaches for his chin, slipping her fingers along his strong jaw. She turns his face towards her, and his icy eyes idly skim her body, no longer under any pretense. She can tell he wants to smirk; the knowledge of what he really does to his hated admiral’s daughter will likely have him thoroughly self-satisfied all night. He controls it reasonably well. She simply knows him better. 

She’s pondering over what she wants to do with him when he squeezes her thigh. She has a sharp intake of breath, and he uses that as cover to lean across the distance between them, slipping free of her palm. His tongue pokes out to run up the shell of her ear, and he purrs into it with a deep, sensuous roll, “Should I entertain you while you wait?”

 _Should he fuck his enemy’s daughter._ She knows what it translates to. It’s just difficult to care with the how sexual his voice is and how talented his fingers are between her legs. He doesn’t dare dip under the tight hem of her skirt, not without permission; that isn’t how the game works, but he doesn’t need to to get his point across; he’s more than skilled enough to make her squirm from this alone. Carol purposely has to force her eyes away from his crotch, well aware of the sizable bulge waiting for her. 

Though this is one of the many times Carol’s hardly impressed with her father, she has no interest in getting in the middle of them. She isn’t going to let Khan take her and smirk over it all night. Then he uses his free hand to brush back the yellow hair from her neck, he places a chaste kiss behind her ear, and her resolve wavers. She looks sideways at him, and her eyes flicker down. She can see the imprint of his collar beneath the dark fabric around his neck: a symbol that he _belongs to her_ that he fastened on himself this morning. Perhaps it’s just to give her this false sense of control, to trick her into complacency. He uses her hesitation to kiss her neck again, this time open-mouthed, and his tongue laves along her skin. 

She grabs a chunk of his silky hair and jerks him back; she can’t afford to have marks on her neck. Not tonight. She stares at him, breathing harder than she should be, and he patiently waits in her grip, turning once to kiss her wrist. 

Sometimes she really doesn’t know why she bothers pretending she’ll resist. She keeps her hold on him and hikes her skirt up to her waist, spreading her thighs, his warm palm sliding towards her knee: subtly helping. She has half a mind to shove him down but lets go instead; she wants to see him do it himself. 

His head stays in place, though his eyes slide down, and the faintest smile twitches at his bow lips. She bites her own to keep from biting his, adamant that, at the very least, they won’t kiss. She won’t let him seduce her tonight. She lets him take his time, and he slowly lowers his chin, bypassing her open mouth—he presses a tight-lipped kiss against her collarbone. Her chest heaves out with her breath when he draws another one amidst her cleavage. Then he reaches her dress and kisses her stomach through the fabric. Though there’s plenty of space between them and the wall that holds off the driver, lined in another fold-down bench her father will likely sit on, Khan doesn’t slink to the floor. He stays sideways in his seat, perhaps ready to vault back any second, though Carol highly doubts her father will return earlier than quoted. Khan’s next kiss is at the top of her leg. He begins to roll her dress neatly out of the way. The closer his face comes to her crotch, the wider Carol spreads her legs. She puts her elbow against the car door, the other hand ready to cover her mouth. The car’s only sound proof to an extent. 

He ducks below her scrunched hem and nuzzles into her panties; Carol holds her knuckles to her mouth. His nose digs in just above her slit, at an angle, and his lips part, hot breath ghosting over her. The thin, lacey black fabric is already starting to cling to her skin, but he makes it worse with his steamy exhalations and the way his tongue wets it for her, sliding up the seam running evenly down the middle. On the next lick, the moisture sucks the fabric into her crease, and Carol can’t stop herself from quivering, eyes trying to keep watch out the window.

Her peripherals are the only thing she’s paying attention to: Khan’s long legs sprawled over the seat, Khan’s muscled torso contorted over her lap, handsome face intensely focused on her pleasure. He sticks his tongue hard into the center of her panties and pushes the stretched material deeper; Carol puts a hand on his side and starts to stroke him like a well-behaved pet: a subtle way of saying, _that’s enough._

Khan catches the top of her panties in his teeth and tugs them down, fingers taking hold of the sides to help. She isn’t wearing much more than a thong—he could just tug the barrier aside and work around it. Instead, he pulls her panties halfway down her thighs and frees himself room to dive in properly, completely unhindered. His lips seal around hers, and Carol covers her mouth completely; it’s grown entirely too hot in here. Khan’s never been shy. His face crushes right into her crotch, nose buried in her yellow curls and lips wide around her pussy. He spreads his tongue out along the middle and draws a long, languid line up to her clit. His tongue curls around it at the top, and Carol’s hand strays up his shoulder, over to his hair. She fists in it, tugs at him, doesn’t really want to do the work of guiding him but just has to hold on. 

She can practically _feel_ Khan’s smirk. She doesn’t care. He deserves it. He’s good, very good, and he eats her out like all he really wants is her pleasure—she could almost believe the fantasy. His tongue stabs its way inside her, and the wet squelch is swallowed in her cry. She grits her teeth, head lolling back against the seat. He explores inside her walls and sucks at her outsides, her juices rushing out to meet him. Khan’s fingers gently stroke her sides, and Carol’s hips are shivering, wanting to buck forward of their own accord. Even when his teeth scrape along her skin, it’s deliberate and _perfect_ : just enough stimulus to make her moan. 

He’s fucking her with his tongue in no time, and Carol’s pussy is convulsing around him, both impressed with the size of his tongue and disappointed that it’s not his cock. But then, his cock couldn’t do the same tricks. He sucks at her entrance while he goes, and he stops every few thrusts to ululate his tongue along the bead of her clit, and he swirls around to hit her at every angle, make every part of her warm. She’s impossibly wet and already cursing herself for not bringing panty liners—she usually keeps a few in her purse for times like this, but she used them up yesterday after watching Khan lick the cream off her coffee. 

Today, she’ll have to make sure he sucks her dry afterwards. He’ll have to lick every bead of sweat and juice and his own saliva away, and then she’ll rub his face into her just to make sure, and Carol makes a muffled whimper through her hand at the thought of using him like a towel. Oblivious to the way her mind debases him, Khan laps away at her folds, pressing his own noises into her skin. When he groans, it sends a deep rumble up through her body, and when he purrs against her, the sound makes her dizzy. She just barely catches his moving hand in her peripheral, and she pushes his wrist away before he can try to bring it to his mouth; if she lets his fingers inside, she’ll be writhing on his cock in minutes. 

She breathes, “Just your mouth.” His talented, dirty mouth. He doesn’t answer, but he listens, and his hands stay where they belong, one wrapped around her waist and the other on her thigh. He doesn’t need the help. He could make any one come with his tongue alone, and she breaks halfway through, hips leaping forward. She tightens her fist in his hair and humps his face like an animal, panting enough to leave a cloud on the window. Outside, people mill past the official Starfleet building, with no idea that one of the greatest threats they ever faced currently resides between her legs. 

Somewhere along the line, her eyes stray, and then she finds herself petting his hip. It makes no difference to his performance, even when she squeezes his hip and slips around to pinch his ass. It only leads her to the front again, and she can’t stop herself from cupping the bulge in his pants. When she squeezes and presses in, she can feel the hard imprint of his shaft, and she runs down to palm the softer swell of his balls. Khan makes a pleased noise against her pussy that makes her quiver and moan, but otherwise, he doesn’t move. Carol fondles his package until she can feel the telltale signs of her impending orgasm, and then she needs her hands again. She takes a final few seconds to push his pants halfway down his ass, just to admire the taut cheeks that bulge around the tight hem. 

Then it’s back to pulling his hair and covering her mouth. He must know she’s close, because he attacks her with a brutal vigor, sucking and licking and nuzzling all at once, thrusting in and out and lapping away and drenching her quivering lips. The tension rolls through Carol’s body, and she clamps her mouth tightly shut to muffle her scream—and a _scream_ it would be. She arches back, hips grinding forward, skull digging into the seat, and she fucks his face _hard_. She’s reached the peak where her head thins, all her muscles tighten, and she loses the feeling in her extremities, or at least, the ability to feel. All she knows is the pleasure he gives her and that heat in her crotch and her head, and she cries into her palm in a dizzying explosion. 

Khan doesn’t once stop his work. He licks at her through all of her erratic movements, while she humps his face hard enough to break his nose. He holds her thighs when her crotch arches up towards him, and he releases a sensual growl that makes her stand on edge, adoring ever second. 

Her orgasm is drawn out uniquely long, stab after stab of lingering bliss piercing into her haze, until she’s pulled too taut to stay that way, and she collapses into the seat, sweating and panting with lazy, spread open legs. Her grip in Khan’s hair slips away, but he still eats her out—just more gently, softly: kittenish licks instead of hungry meals. Carol compounds a moan onto her lingering whimper and tells herself this isn’t the time for multiple rounds, even though her high hasn’t left her at all spent enough to stop him. 

She stops him anyway, lightly shoving his shoulder and breathing, “Khan.” He stops his licks to kiss her pussy, and then he’s using his teeth and fingers to push her wet panties back into place. She soaks right through them, though he does reach in to try and wipe her up with his sleeve and face. 

Afterwards, he climbs back to sitting, looking flushed and beautiful but no more regal than ever. He could probably wipe all the debauchery away in a heartbeat: look as though nothing happened. 

He crudely wipes his wet mouth and chin off on his wrist, and Carol watches him with a sort of animal longing, acutely aware it was a bad idea to bring him. He’s still hard, but she makes no move to help him and in fact looks pointedly away. There’s a part of her that almost wants to return the favour. A larger part that just wants to pull open his pants and climb on and hide all the evidence of his arousal inside her body. She glances nervously outside the window, but her father is still nowhere in sight. 

She could reach over and finish him with her hand, then have him lick the evidence away. Or she could have him do it himself. But the scent of sex is already permeating the backseat, and Carol makes herself roll down a window. That shuts off all possibilities. 

Khan sits back in his seat like a good boy, not speaking a word about his erection. He can probably control it away, like he controls so many things. Eventually, he returns to leaving his hand on her thigh, and though it’s a possessive movement, she doesn’t stop him. She stares out the window, thinking off all the naughty things she’ll do to him when they get home.

Or, perhaps, if her father is particularly unbearable, she’ll let Khan fuck her in the washroom at the restaurant. It would be bad, of course, but if Carol were an angel, she wouldn’t own a person in the first place. 

By the time her father does show up, Khan’s returned to looking absolutely pristine. He doesn’t bat an eyelash at the sneer Carol’s father gives him upon slipping into the backseat. Carol offers her father a weak smile and crosses her legs, still resisting pulling Khan between them.


End file.
